


how many guys you know make love?

by folignos



Series: let's tell it how it is [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Gay Porn Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4020643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You’re supposed to be being nice to me,’ Jonny complains.</p><p>Brandon glances over at Brent, who’s standing in the doorway, watching. ‘I am being nice,’ he says, scraping his fingernails down Jonny’s ribs until he squirms. ‘I’m being really nice, right Brent?’</p>
            </blockquote>





	how many guys you know make love?

**Author's Note:**

> i'm officially running out of good lines from salt and pepa's let's talk about sex for this verse
> 
> my contribution to [gay porn hard](http://demotu.tumblr.com/post/119956322161/gay-porn-hard-2015)!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://rraantasaurus.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/toewses)!

Brandon isn’t very good at mornings.

He schedules all his classes during the afternoons, and he bartends because it never ever requires him to have to get up early. It’s perfect.

He thinks Jonny might be even worse at mornings than him though.

‘Babe,’ Brent says, taking the carton away. ‘You put juice in your oatmeal again.’

‘Oh,’ Jonny says. ‘S’okay, I don’t have time for breakfast.’ He blinks at the bowl, huge purple circles carved under his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks, which is probably fairly accurate, Brandon guesses.

‘It’s your day off,’ Brent says. ‘It’s all our days off, we’re gonna have a day where we do nothing.’ He takes Jonny’s ruined oatmeal away and hands him a plate of toast. Jonny starts eating without even looking at it.

‘I’m gonna go to the gym,’ he says.

‘Nope,’ Brent says.

Jonny scowls. ‘I haven’t been running in three weeks.’

‘Yeah, you look so out of shape,’ Brent deadpans. ‘You can go to the gym if you can make it through breakfast without yawning.’

Brandon smiles into his cereal when Jonny yawns immediately, and looks betrayed by his own body.

‘No gym,’ Brent says. ‘We’re gonna sit on the couch and watch crappy TV, and we’re gonna get takeout for dinner, and then tomorrow you can go back to running yourself into the ground on a daily basis.’

‘I have work tonight,’ Jonny protests.

‘You called in sick this morning,’ Brandon says, apologetically. ‘You just-- you look like you need a day off of everything.’

Jonny scowls, but finishes his breakfast and follows Brandon into the shower while Brent washes up.

-

Jonny falls asleep with his head in Brandon’s lap. Brandon’s sketching out some chords idly in his composition book when he realises Jonny’s snoring gently. He glances over at Brent, in the armchair, and grins.

‘Well, I would offer to make lunch,’ Brandon says softly, when he hears Brent’s stomach rumble. ‘I appear to be stuck.’

‘How convenient,’ Brent deadpans, but heaves himself out of the chair and drops a kiss onto first Jonny’s, then Brandon’s heads.

‘Use the bread on the counter if you’re making sandwiches,’ Brandon tells him. ‘It needs using before the loaf in the breadbin.’

Jonny mumbles something about pineapples, and rolls over, nuzzling Brandon’s thigh.

He wakes up when Brandon shifts, blinks up at him, confused.

‘I fell asleep?’

‘Little bit,’ Brandon says, leans down for a kiss. ‘You hungry?’

Jonny shakes his head and yawns.

‘You wanna go back to sleep for a bit?’

Jonny nods, and rolls over again, loops an arm around Brandon’s thigh, and buries his face in the ridge of his hip.

‘I might be stuck here forever,’ Brandon says, when Brent brings him a sandwich and a bottle of juice.

‘I will miss you terribly,’ Brent says, setting Jonny’s plate on the coffee table, covered in plastic wrap, and sliding onto the sofa next to Brandon, Jonny’s feet in his lap.

‘I wonder how long he’ll sleep,’ Brandon says, quietly.

Brent shrugs. ‘As long as he needs it, I guess. He’s been sleeping less than me, recently. I think he has this big assessment coming up, he just won’t talk about it.’

Brandon cards his hand through Jonny’s hair, drags a knuckle across his cheekbone delicately. ‘He’ll be okay,’ he says. ‘Even if he has to get through on determination and sheer bloodymindedness, he’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah,’ Brent says, squeezing his ankle. ‘Eat your sandwich. It’ll go dry.’

-

Jonny wakes up slowly, late afternoon. Brandon’s quietly reading aloud to Brent, who’s dozing, leaning on the other arm of the sofa.

‘Hey, you,’ Brandon says, when he notices, folds the corner of the page and puts his book down. ‘How you feeling?’

‘Like I’ve been asleep for about six and a half years,’ Jonny says.

‘Close enough,’ Brent rumbles, blinking across at them both, eyes hooded.

Jonny stretches until Brandon hears the joints in his spine pop, and sits up, leaning against Brandon’s shoulder.

Brandon kisses his cheek. ‘You feeling better?’

Jonny nods, and cracks his neck. ‘What time is it?’

‘Almost five,’ Brent says, checking his watch.

Jonny pulls a face. ‘My shift--’

‘Is going to someone else,’ Brandon says. ‘You’re having the night off.’

‘But--’

‘Night off,’ Brent says, and leans over to kiss him silent.

Brandon takes this opportunity to stretch his legs and piss, and when he comes back into the living room, Jonny’s got a knee planted either side of Brent’s hips, and is driving the fingers of one hand into the blanket draped over the back of the couch as Brent worries at the skin on his throat gently.

‘Didn’t want to wait for me, huh?’ Brandon asks, grinning. Brent glances up at him and winks, never taking his lips off Jonny’s neck. He goes to stand in front of them, runs his hand up the back of Jonny’s head, carding through his hair, kisses his cheek. ‘Hey, babe,’ he says.

Jonny makes a soft sound, and tilts his head a little more so he can see Jonny. Brent sinks his teeth in a little deeper, and Jonny’s eyes go hot.

‘Jonny’s been working so hard,’ Brent says, muffled against Jonny’s skin. ‘I figure we’d reward him for it.’

-

They get him sprawled out on the bed, naked, and Brandon drapes himself over Jonny’s chest, sucking and nipping at his jaw, licking at the hickey Brent’s left on his throat.

Jonny moans, and brings a hand up to get it in Brandon’s hair. ‘You need a haircut,’ he mumbles, and then makes a sound again when Brandon bites his collarbone. ‘You look like a hippie.’

‘You love my hippie hair,’ Brandon says, pausing to push it out of his face. Jonny laughs until Brandon pinches his nipple, hard.

‘You’re supposed to be being nice to me,’ Jonny complains.

Brandon glances over at Brent, who’s standing in the doorway, watching. ‘I am being nice,’ he says, scraping his fingernails down Jonny’s ribs until he squirms. ‘I’m being really nice, right Brent?’

‘I’m enjoying the show,’ Brent says, by way of answer, and reaches down to readjust himself.

Brandon drops a trail of kisses down Jonny’s sternum, circling his belly button with the point of his tongue. Jonny giggles and squirms.

He kisses the head of Jonny’s cock, red and damp already. ‘How nice do you want me to be?’ he asks. ‘Because I could be a little bit nice--’ He mouths at the shaft lightly. ‘Or I could be a lot nice--’ He moves lower, spreading Jonny’s legs just enough that he can blow a puff of warm air over his hole. Jonny shivers, and tries to shuffle away. Brandon grips his thigh a little harder. ‘Or I could be the nicest it’s possible to be,’ he says, sliding the tip of his finger against Jonny’s rim, and rubbing, just hard enough to make him whine, and tug on Brandon’s hair.

‘Yeah?’ Brandon asks, looking up at him. ‘That last one, huh?’

Jonny nods, eyes screwed shut. Brandon’s still rubbing his finger over the ring of muscle, hard enough that the tip of his finger is slipping just inside every time he passes over.

‘Can I?’ he asks Brent, still standing in the doorway.

Brent shrugs. ‘Your show, babe.’

Brandon grins at him. ‘You gonna join us?’

‘Soon.’ He turns and vanishes into the main room. Brandon watches him go, finger still pressing into Jonny slowly. When he turns back, it’s disappeared up to the first knuckle, and Jonny’s chest is starting to go blotchy and red.

‘ _Brandon_ ,’ he whines.

Something hits Brandon in the back, and when he turns around, there’s a bottle of lube sitting on the carpet.

‘We left it in the living room the other night,’ Brent says.

‘Thanks,’ Brandon says, and slicks his hand up easily.

When he slides his index finger back in, slowly, Jonny makes a high pitched sound in his throat, and his hips jump up.

‘Babe, you wanna come and hold him down for me?’ Brandon asks, moving his finger in and out slowly, feeling Jonny loosen up by degrees.

He feels the mattress dip under Brent’s weight, doesn’t look up from where he’s pushing a second finger into Jonny.

It always takes the longest to open Jonny up, he just takes a little extra stretching is all, but Brandon fucking loves it, loves taking Jonny apart on just a couple of fingers and the ghost of a mouth on his dick.

Brent slides his mouth against Jonny’s, swallowing up a sound, and slings a leg over Jonny’s hips, just resting his weight on Jonny’s pelvis enough to keep him still. Brandon leans over to press a kiss to Brent’s shoulder blade, and runs his free hand down the line of his spine, making it arch, just the tiniest bit.

When Brandon adds a third finger, Jonny’s thighs go tense. Brent’s wearing loose sweats, and Jonny’s dick is rubbing up against them, in the crease of his ass.

‘Don’t you dare come on these sweats,’ Brent growls. ‘They’re my favourite pair.’

Jonny makes a complaining sound. Brandon twists his fingers and the sound trails off into a moan, and he kicks one of his legs out. Brandon runs his free hand down a shaking thigh soothingly, and nudges Brent.

‘You wanna fuck him?’ he asks. ‘He’ll need another one if you do.’

Brent hums, rubs his stubble against Jonny’s jaw, where he’s already flushed red.

‘What do you think, sweetheart?’ Brent asks him. ‘You want my dick?’

Jonny whimpers. Brandon pushes his pinky finger against Jonny’s rim, just the tiniest bit, makes him squirm.

‘Brent,’ Jonny says. ‘ _Brent_.’

‘Use your words, babe,’ Brent says. ‘You gotta ask me if you want it.’

‘Want _you_ ,’ Jonny manages, and Brandon pushes his pinky finger in properly. It’s probably agonisingly slow for Jonny, but he’s just so _tight_ , Brandon doesn’t want to hurt him.

Brent climbs off him, off the bed, strips his t-shirt and sweats off easily. Brandon pauses to watch him when he thinks Brent’s not paying attention. He hates being looked at, but Brandon loves watching the shift of muscles under his skin, so he sneaks glances whenever he can.

Brent climbs back onto the bed, and Brandon pulls his fingers out, dragging them across Jonny’s perineum and up the shaft of his cock, leaving a trail of lube, making Jonny moan.

Brent lubes up, and slides a couple of fingers in, tugging at the rim, testing the stretch. Jonny’s chest is covered in a sheen of sweat already, and he tosses his head, hair sticking to his temples. Brent palms his thigh gently, careful slide of skin on skin, kisses the side of Jonny’s knee.

‘I got you,’ he says, and pushes into Jonny inch by inch. Jonny’s face screws up a little at first. Brandon cards through his hair from where he’s sitting next to him, knees nudged up against his hip and ribcage. His other hand is resting on Jonny’s belly, just above where his dick bobs gently as Brent keeps pushing.

He takes a second when he’s bottomed out, hair falling into his face. Jonny’s chest heaves. Brandon traces the lines of his ribs with the tips of his fingers, leans over and kisses him. He feels Brent start to move, feels Jonny’s abs tense up, feels the bed start to shift underneath them.

Jonny starts making desperate, needy noises, not quite begging, tiny whimpers that sound like they’re being forced out of him every time Brent reaches the end of a thrust.

‘Wanna come,’ Jonny mumbles into Brandon’s mouth, reaching for his dick with the hand that isn’t tangled back up in Brandon’s hair. Brandon reaches for his wrist, holds it still.

‘Soon’ he promises. ‘You’re doing real good, babe, you can come soon.’

Jonny whines, pulls against Brandon’s grip a little. ‘Need it,’ he says. ‘ _Brandon_.’

Brandon glances back at Brent, who doesn’t appear to be listening, looking down at Jonny and watching his cock disappearing into Jonny’s body. ‘Babe,’ he says, and Brent glances up, but keeps moving, big, long strokes that makes Jonny’s dick jump up and down on his stomach, leaving a trail of pre-come. ‘I think he’s ready,’ Brandon says, sliding a finger through the mess on Jonny’s stomach.

‘Yeah?’ Brent asks. ‘You ready, sweetheart? You ready to come?’

Jonny nods, eyes shut.

Brent reaches out with a hand, thumbs at the head of Jonny’s cock gently, and grins when Jonny cries out weakly, arching his hips up. ‘You wanna give him a hand, B?’ he asks, wrapping both hands around Jonny’s hips again, tight enough to bruise if the sound Jonny makes is any indication.

Brandon kisses Jonny again, and wraps a hand around his dick, jerking him off to the same rhythm as Brent fucking into him until he shouts and comes onto his own belly while Brandon bites at his lower lip, sharp.

Brent keeps moving until he comes too, and Jonny’s limp, face slack. He whimpers a little when Brent pulls out, kissing his hip in apology.

Brandon climbs off the bed and heads to the bathroom for a washcloth, and gets unexpectedly boxed in by Brent against the counter.

‘You didn’t get off,’ Brent says, hands settling on Brandon’s waist.

‘Wasn’t about me,’ Brandon says, waving the washcloth at him.

‘You were real nice to him,’ Brent says, leaning down to murmur in Brandon’s ear. ‘Time for someone to be nice to you, now.’

‘Yeah?’ Brandon asks, rolling his hips into Brent’s thigh. ‘You gonna give me what I want?’

‘Something like that,’ Brent says, and drops to his knees.

He tugs Brandon’s jeans and underwear down in one, rubs his thumb across Brandon’s hip, where he has Brent and Jonny’s initials inked in tiny font. ‘Fuckin’ love your ink, babe,’ he says, bites at it and runs the flat of his tongue over the indents his teeth leave.

When he mouths at the head of Brandon’s dick, Brandon drops the washcloth on the floor with a damp splat. Brent laughs, sending vibrations down Brandon’s dick straight to the pit of his stomach, where heat is already pooling.

‘Fuck,’ Brandon breathes.

‘Good?’ Brent asks, glancing up. In the light of the bathroom, his eyes look nonsensically green, even though Brandon knows they’re hazel. He rubs a thumb under Brent’s eye, as if he’s trying to wipe one of the permanent purple smudges there away.

‘I love you,’ Brandon says, and watches Brent light up.

‘I love you too,’ Brent says. ‘So much.’ He slides down onto Brandon’s dick like he’s never wanted to do anything else, and Brandon’s so on edge that it doesn’t take longer than a couple of minutes before he’s coming down Brent’s throat with a groan.

Brent tastes kind of bitter when he kisses him, but Brandon loops his arms around Brent’s neck anyway, kisses back until Brent pulls away.

‘We should get back to Jonny,’ he says. ‘He’s probably asleep by now, but still.’

Jonny is, in fact, fast asleep, sprawled out on his back, dick lying soft in the hollow of his hip.

They clean him up and strip the damp comforter out from underneath him, grabbing the one from the spare room to drape over the top, and Brent kisses Jonny’s forehead before padding out into the living room where Brandon’s curled up in the armchair.

‘I’ll make dinner,’ Brent says, kissing the top of his head.

‘I’ll come help,’ Brandon says, following him into the kitchen, and they move around each other quietly to throw together a stir fry, Brent threatening to chop Brandon’s thumbs off if he doesn’t stop stealing the mushroom slices.

It’s nice, Brandon thinks. He’s got one boyfriend sleeping peacefully in another room, and one right here, pinning him against the kitchen counter and tickling him into submission, extracting a promise that Brandon won’t steal any more food until it’s cooked. It’s just-- nice.

 

 


End file.
